


The Journal Found in the Dark

by Pinnacle of Failure (Cromirn)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:06:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cromirn/pseuds/Pinnacle%20of%20Failure
Summary: You didn't know what was happening, but here you stand. The place looks like it needs some serious repairs, and something isn't standing right.She doesn't like people who take away what is hers, you learn, and she doesn't like the way you think.





	The Journal Found in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is something to kick off my Skyrim character. In the game she goes through the main quest, but in this she isn't dragon born, even when she knows some useful shouts. I think I'll put them down in the bottom notes. 
> 
> The reader part is just to add some spice to it, since I didn't want to make another oc just to fill in the spot. This is gonna be a multichapter fic, but idk yet how it's gonna flow.

The property was given to you by an estranged aunt. Something about it belonging to the bloodline. You know that Cyrodiil is a wild place, but you never thought that you would have to move to some property to meet an aunt at her deathbed. She wouldn’t let her own children have it, muttering something about their worthiness to her.

But that it besides to point. The point is is that you have free land. Land that you have to care for. Manage. Pay.

Most of this stuff is useless, just some old dusty books and journals. Potted plants, assorted animal and human bones, wooden figurines, gems and other treasures. What catches your eye the most is the books, though. You’re sure that some library will want to buy them, especially since most of these look so old.

Most of the journals in the bookshelves date back to a little less than a hundred years, but a little investigating leads you to the basement. You make a lot of noise, intent on scaring away any mice and rats, but keeping a blade on you incase of any skeevers. The place is dim and dank - not a place for you, not even if you’re going to live above it - but yet you trudge on. There are boxes and crates, some looking as if they have not been touched in a long while.

In the back corner in the basement leads you to a locked chest. The thing is rotting away, and isn’t too hard to pick open. Inside are some canvases, most of them painted. Most of them are women, while some are of obscure bodies in what looks like fighting stances. You care little for these, but suppose that they will give you some coin.

In the bottom there is a flap of fabric, probably what the chest was once covered in, but pulled away reveals a thin and weathered journal. The pages are wrinkled with sweat, and on the leather cover is a small inscription.

**_Journal of Ysonna_ **

The handwriting is so small, that you believe that a mother or father wrote it on there, compared to the slobbered writing on the last few pages. Upon closer inspection, though, it’s revealed that the writing comes from an older woman. Just one, and only one. You glide a finger through the cover and the first page, and find it blank, only the rusted yellow of the paper and some mysterious stains from the changing of conditions through time. A page after though tells you more than before.

_2E 895, 28th of First Seed _is the date of the first entry. This must be a joke.__

__~~~_ _

__**2E 895, 28th of First Seed** _ _

__I can already feel the sickness in my soul, corrupting it to the fullest potential. Journals have never been in my potential--I was a strong reader in my youth, but never a strong writer. I guess this will have to do. My deepest, darkest desires is to have my name out. I don’t want to fade away like my fellow aunts and uncles and my cousins, I don’t want to be forgotten. Even when these words fade away, this page bleeds with mold, and this book rots with dust, I want the assurance that my name will haunt even one potential reader for even the slightest of moments. I do not desire any ill will to my… assailants, as there is simply nothing ill to give them any more as their heads now adorn my properties fence walls, but I do desire to know what unnatural poison they laced their thrice-damned weapons with._ _

__I am a mercenary. No longer am I for hire as I am ailed with some unknown poison. It will not leave my system, no matter what I use, or what I do, or who I pledge my soul to. It does not matter no more, though. I have long lost my ties to my family, there is no one for me to stay for. My lands will go to my fellow companion, a beautiful Nord woman who goes by Isggild, who I trust will up hold the crops and cattle for as long as she can, which I know will be a long, long time. Isggild comes from a long line of farmers, only following me to get a change of lifestyle._ _

__The night grows ever colder as my heart slowly fades, and my hand is no longer still enough to even practice my art. I rest in my bed, more useless than I was the day of my birth, and it kills me to move to my desk, where I now hunch over to write this damned thing. My throat burns and a sleek layer of sweat coats my skin, yet I tremble and I shake, and my fingers and toes are stiff and are hard to bend. I am so desperate to say ‘stop’ to this project, to drop it faster than I dropped my siblings, but I shall prevail, and I shall have my name somewhere after I die._ _

__For almost two weeks have I been in this state, my dear Isggild taking care of me as I rot away in her hands. It’s dreadful, being like this, but I cannot fathom what it must like for her, to see her companion fade away so. I know it will be hard for her to adjust without my presence, but she knows that this will be the end. It has been a wonderful time with her, which I have stated such in her own letter. But this isn’t about her, I made this to tell of my life._ _

__~~~_ _

__This tells you nothing, but yet your interest in piqued. You continue reading._ _

__~~~_ _

__**2E 895, 29th of First Seed** _ _

__I am losing myself. Isggild woke me not too long ago, sill hunched at my desk. I have never done such a thing, sleeping when well slept. Sleeping while at my desk. I know that I am ill, and that I will die, and that this is to be expected, but I cannot handle this. I want my story out, so I cannot lament about my present. Onwards I will go._ _

__I was born sometime in the middle of Rain’s Hand in 2E 872 to a family of merchants and mercenaries. Some of them were decent people, the rest were not. When my grandparents died, I was left nothing between the current three other grandchildren they had. An uncle of mine from my mother's side was the one to teach me most of what I know, especially that of the art of killing. He was a great artist. Diowyn was his name, and he was not just an artist in the ways of killing. I still remember the way he would hold his paint brush, to accommodate the missing fingers that he had. When he was not commissioned to paint or to sketch someone, he was commissioned to kill or take from people. When he wasn’t doing those, he was teaching me._ _

__My parents were never around. When I saw them it was only in the occasional family meetings we’d have. I remember clearly the first time I saw my father, that I looked much like him but had my mothers mahogany red hair. It still shocks me today that I even know what I look like, from the crossing glances in mirrors and rain puddles. I am not a vain person, but I know that I take things to the extremes sometimes, like not having seen myself since the last rainfall. After my fifteenth year passed was when I started to drift away from my family. I was disconnected from them in so many ways that I’d have to use both Isggild’s hands to count them all. Things only got worse after Diowyn died. I was not much of a fighter back then, despite my skills in that area, so I did not fight for my inheritance._ _

__I left after that, even when I got hastily written letters from distant family telling me about my mothers sorrows and my father's drunkenness. I believe that it was easier for me to kill a man for the first time than to leave my family; they would not leave me alone. Even today, they still try and contact me. Well, not for long, that is._ _

__When my sixteenth year passed, I was a common guard or a mercenary, hired to protect caravans and noble as they moved through the lands. I hunted for myself, and only myself(and maybe the horse too). I didn’t meet Isggild until a few years pass, when I was on my nineteenth year, and to think that was only four years ago…_ _

__But when I did have Isggild as a companion, things were greatly easier for me. I didn’t have to worry about my back, and I had they joy to teach what I had been taught. My uncle must have had a lot to do, to teach me and to do his job. It’s a pleasure to teach her, and I know that she will teach more people, her own companions after I die._ _

__I remember when I first started this job that I do. I remember stealing notebooks, journals and diaries. I loved the fact that I could see into people's lives, especially when I’m the one to protect them, or even to kill them. It was easier for me to gauge their intentions with me and my duty. Once, a Breton man by the name of Gregsic Magcolia tried to get me to unfurl his wife’s intentions with a man she was cheating with, only to find that they were the type of people to find power in killing their hired guard. Another time an Altmer woman, Muurrume Highour, had me scour a coven’s place of hiding, only for me to read that she planned on sacrificing me to some god, all to bring back her dead child. The fun part about that story is that her child is still alive, only a vampire. Karialenya was a problem on her own, but there wasn’t any money going my way so I never dealt with it._ _

__I know that the intent of this journal was to tell of my life, but it seems that I have already gone through that. I’ve only stories left to tell, but they all go the same way; I am hired, I take their book, and I find out their plans. Sometimes things go as originally planned, but other times they don’t as shown in the previous paragraph. Maybe I should continue this with the status of my health. I don’t want to seem prudish and ladylike, but I did not waste eight septims for this journal._ _

__**2E 895, 30th of First Seed** _ _

__Today is a lot worse than yesterday. I have constant chills running up and down the curve of my back and my hands are jittering. There is this ringing in my ear that I can’t get rid of, and my hunger is unsatisfiable. Isggild is quiet, but I know why. She gave me a mirror she keeps under her pillow, alongside her small blade of course, and tells me of how ashen I look, sunken and hollow. Dead._ _

__She’s worried for me. I know that this is not how I want her to see me, but she insists on taking care of me. Isggild means much to me, and it pains me to have her see me in such a state. I think this hurts more than the actual pain._ _

__~~~_ _

__So Ysonna was once a person who refused to let their name die, so what? Something trickles in the back of your mind that you should keep reading. You’re ready to close the book, but your hands pry it back open, and flips a page to look at the next entry._ _

__~~~_ _

__**2E 895, 31st of First Seed** _ _

__Last night I started to cough blood. It stains my teeth and my wrists, and my handkerchief is drenched in it. My throat is sore, and scratches everytime I speak._ _

__I only hope that I won’t die too soon. I plan on telling Isggild something._ _

__**2E 895, the first of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__My feelings go unaccompanied this day. I told Isggild that I loved her, that I loved her more than I have ever, but she only shied away. She said that she loved me too - oh, how my heart sped - but not like the way that I did. Never had I felt such a chilling water flow through my veins. I could feel my face flush, my fingers and toes fall numb to the ice._ _

__She said that she loved me, but not the way I wanted._ _

__I know that this is wrong to feel like this, I know that not everyone is destined for just anyone but we had spent our lives in the cusp of the others hands. There were so many times where if I were to not have placed so much effort she would have died, and that mentality has applied with her as many times as I. My heart beats for her, and only her, but not when she doesn’t share the feelings that I have, even on my deathbed._ _

__**2E 895 2nd of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__Would it be bad to say that I would rather Isggild lie to me than to say the truth?_ _

__Would it be bad to say that I would rather die sooner than to live the last days with this shame?_ _

__I knew that I shouldn’t have told her, but I wanted her to know; I wanted her to know that I cared enough to tell her in person. Telling her through a note after my death seemed so wrong to me at the time, but now it seemed like a better ending.  
Anything is better than this pain in my chest._ _

__~~~_ _

__A nagging in the back of your head tells you to read more, but you have to look away. This doesn’t sound like a mercenary’s journal--this looks like a love sick highborn woman's journal. You’re eyes are focused back onto the warped page._ _

__~~~_ _

__**2E 895, 3rd of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__One of my old friends came by. He wasn’t so happy about what I’ve done. He says that I was a fool to succumb to this disease. He tells me that I should have come to him right away, but now it’s too late._ _

__Grendin gives me a small vial. He says that it will numb the pain - as if there is any pain left - and that it will make it quick. He tells me to use it when I know that I am ready. He cries, and hold on to me. I let him, and a stray tear follows with his, but that is shut down when Isggild comes into my room having heard the sobs._ _

__She tells me that I had died, and I only gave her a dry laugh. I would be dead in a few days, I tell her, but now I grieve for what I lost._ _

__**2E 895, 4th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__Nothing happened today. I feel so lonely._ _

__Other than Grendin visiting me, no one has come over. I barely see Isggild anymore. She says that she has to tend to some things. I don’t know what she means by that._ _

__**2E 895, 10th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__My heart weeps for Isggild. I never see her anymore. The chills down my back are worse. I doubt I’ll make it through the next week. My only wish is to see Isggild again._ _

__**2E 895, 13th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__I’ve only seen Isggild once since the last entry. She spoke few words to me. We may have gone through the deepest and darkest pits in Tamriel, but I have never found a liking to you. I am sorry to end it this way, but it’s for the better. Those are the words she said._ _

__Those are the words that will be the last of me._ _

__I told her that I will let her keep what I offered her, that my only behest is that she remembers what I told her, of all of the fun we had; the drunken brawls and the messy make up afterwards, the cave diving and all of the blood we’ve spilt on out hands. There was so much I had to say, but my throat closed and I nearly choked myself to my own death in front of her. When I recovered she was gone._ _

__**2E 895, 15th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__My hands tremor as I write. It took me too long to get my journal. I fear that I have nothing left but the rustle of the leaves outside. I can see almost every bone that I have, the sickness taking all of my energy to maintain myself.  
There is not much for me to do. Grendin’s vial remains underneath my pillow, but I refuse to use it; even when the thought tempts me. _ _

__The pages from here on are pinched and wrinkled, some of the words are smeared, but just enough where you can still understand them._ _

__**2E 895, 17th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__My ribs chatter like windchimes in the storm, and I am sweating profusely even when I quake with chills. It is hard for me to move, and my joints scream every time I do. Every stroke of my quill is a wave of pain._ _

__**2E 895, 18th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__Pain._ _

__There is only pain here._ _

__**2E 895, 20th of Rain’s Hand** _ _

__Every breath is as if I’ve been running all day. I am in pain constantly. My numbness has fallen faster than I could think, and there is only pain here. There is no one here to comfort me in my last days._ _

__**2E 895, some time after the last entry** _ _

__I have lost track of the days. I feel better, but there is this hunger. This thirst. I cannot walk yet, but this is my absolute last entry._ _

__~~~_ _

__A cold wind brushes past your shoulder, but you ignore it as you carefully place away the journal. Without the words in your head you feel light headed, but that may be the two fangs sinking into your neck. A hand muffles your screams, but that doesn’t stop you from squirming and wiggling in the thing’s grasp._ _

__~~~_ _

__**4E 187, 3rd of Sun’s Dusk** _ _

__A new body now inhabits my home…_ _

__But they are not worthy. They are not worthy to hold the secrets that her descendants have kept for years. They are not worthy for a lifetime spent with me._ _

__They will make for a great second hand, one to last until they fail me._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Ysonna knows the Aura Whisper shout, as well as the Become Ethereal and Storm Call.


End file.
